The Disappointing Adventures of Adverbly Adjective Man

At first, having what amounted to Super Laziness was awesome. It didn’t take long for teachers to give up trying to find proof that I was cheating and granted me permission to have the whole day to myself so I could learn at my own pace. I was the most popular kid in school, and in refusing to associate with any particular clique I destroyed them all: nobody wanted to miss out on hanging with me just become of some petty dispute, and as everyone spent more time side-by-side discovering what they had in common rather than butting heads over what they didn’t, the walls of hostility melted away. My childhood and teenage years were a blur of complete non-responsibility, and I couldn’t be happier.

It was in college where I discovered, to my horror, that my ability also worked in the inverse: the more I cared about something, the worse I fucked it up.

It was awful. Any place I worked where I liked the position or the company would end with me losing the position or the company losing everything, any job I could keep was of the soul-crushing variety, in a place so skeevy I couldn’t stop myself from wanting out. I couldn’t have any passions, interests, or even hobbies, because any charity or movement I involved myself in was sure to fail or be less than ethical, any movie franchise, television series, published work, or video game I found the least bit interesting would be cancelled or spell doom for its creator, and any attempt to make anything with my own hands turned out to be an exercise in futility. My relationships never progressed beyond the superficial level of being in the same room as somebody, because the moment I dared to think I could take it to the next level I said or did something that would put them off me forever–they still didn’t mind being in my company, but that was as far as anybody was willing to go with me.

I couldn’t even hold any kind of political office. You’d think that someone who had no strong opinions, no platforms, and no agendas would be a perfect cog in the government machine, but I also had to have zero ambition. So even though I rode a wave of mass voter disillusionment to become the first ever write-in candidate to win the Presidency of the United States, I knew better by now than to try my hand at running an entire country; I half-assed a speech and refused to serve my term, then booked the first flight to the most remote corner of the world I could imagine.

Now, here I am, World’s Greatest Slacker, waiting out the days before I can close my eyes and be done with this bullshit. Take it from me, kid, you don’t want my autograph: it’s not worth the trouble.